


But It's All In My Head

by orphan_account



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Porn, Angst with a sad ending, Aredhel is a bottom, Blood and Injury, Canonical Character Death, Dream Sex, Dreams and Nightmares, F/F, Last Kiss, Last Time, Lesbian Sex, Oral Sex, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, but thats part of her plan, she may seem like a top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 02:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16030862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Over the years, Aredhel has dreamt repeatedly of the woman she loved back in Aman. On her deathbed, she sees her for one last, desperate night together.In other words: Aredhel is dying, and Vána is the last thing she sees.





	But It's All In My Head

**Author's Note:**

> I was lowkey listening to Talia by King Princess while writing this, so go listen if you want The Vibe.

The room was empty.

It was always empty.

Every single time she had this dream, the room was empty; blue walls, blue floors, blue light -- she felt like she was suffocating under water. Horrible images crossed her mind of the ice, of Elenwë, of her brother. Then she’d wonder how he was doing. Did he miss her yet? Would he dare to send anyone looking? Probably not. She’d tried not to take it personally.

“Irissë.”

Aredhel raised her eyebrows -- no use in turning to look; she recognised the voice just fine. Maybe this time she’d make her visitor wait a little longer -- or her host. She could never tell if this plane was her mind, or if it was somewhere else, created just for the two of them.

The scent of spring blossoms filled her nose, intoxicatingly sweet, and she watched as the ground below her feet began to bloom in shades of white; snowdrops and calla lilies and white hibiscus. A carpet of petals, softer than any sheets she’d ever lain in.

“It was nice of you to bring me flowers, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to take them home,” she found herself joking, but the gesture was sweet. Long ago she had told Vána why she only wore white, and she had been all too happy to run with the theme. Though now the colour only reminded her of all of those tired comparisons -- purity, and snow, and fresh clouds -- that her husband made to her. Perhaps someday she would dabble in black. It certainly suited little Lómion well enough.

Vána laughed, and the blossoms melted away into soft bedding, and silk sheets. Aredhel had forgotten how beautiful her laugh was -- like birdsong.

“I thought I’d come to see you, just one more time.” Finally she turned, and she saw the tear slipping down her cheek.

“Every time is _just one more_.” She lifted a hand to wipe the her cheek.. “Why the weeping? Is Nienna sick?”

“You know we do not… Ah, that was a joke.”

“Smart girl.”

Vána shook her head, then took her by the waist, pulling them close enough together that Aredhel could feel her hip bones through the translucent green shift she wore. A million thoughts and memories crossed her mind, but she buried her head in the crook of her neck and let them pass her by.

“I mean it this time, though: this is the last time.” She could hear the waver in her lover’s voice as she spoke.

“Then let’s at least make it good,” she replied, in the softest voice she could muster. Then she pulled back, and pulled Vána into a kiss, indulging in the sensation of her lips, like soft little pillows, then in the taste of rosewater -- stronger than what was realistic, but when had Vána ever been realistic? They were of two different kinds, but they were something beautiful together nonetheless, or, at least, Aredhel liked to think so.

These dreams were nice; she never had to breathe, but she made the play of doing so anyway. Then she leant back in -- harder, fiercer, like the huntress she used to be, wild and reckless. Arms around her shoulders, holding her by the back of her dress, they sunk down into the soft feather-pillows that covered the ground. She felt her nightgown -- nightgown? No, the fabric was too heavy. She felt her hunting cloak -- no, no, all wrong. It didn’t matter. She felt her jacket dissolve and slip off of her body, leaving naught but a faint tickling sensation across her bare back. She would’ve joked about impatience, but from the moment they’d touched, she’d been wishing for the same thing.

She wound her fingers through Vána’s honeyed curls, letting her fall down against her as she kissed her in waves. The fabric of her dress seemed to spill between them, slipping between her thighs as she tried to find purchase in the pillows below them. She gasped. It was distracting. Perhaps it would be better off.

She leant back and slipped a hand up Vána’s thigh, moving the slippery fabric with it. Her shoulder ached, she was probably leaning too hard on that arm. Unimportant. Then further, further, further -- further until the smooth white-green of her stomach and all below was completely visible. Vána pulled the shift the rest of the way off herself. Aredhel leant back into her as she kissed her again, brushing her fingertips over her breasts as she did, pressing up against her, as close as she could physically get. Her skin was cool -- cool skin against hot skin, and cool skin against -- against, she bit her lip, then she bit it harder as she felt Vána roll over, so that _she_ was the pressed back against the metaphorical sheets. She must’ve drawn blood, because she could smell iron.

A wave of something lease pleasant passed through her, and she shivered, trying to keep whatever this feeling was at bay.

Vána was pressing those soft lips against her nipples, running her tongue in circles. Aredhel let out a soft moan. This was too much in the best way; she ran one hand, shaking strangely (though she paid no heed), through Vána’s hair, and traced the other down her own body, over her own hips, slipped it between her own thighs. She focused strictly on the feeling of Vána against her; nothing else mattered. Nothing else would ever matter.

Then she felt the tickle of hair shifting against her skin, lips brushing against her navel, and then lower, a hand lacing its fingers through her own as it took its place.

“Vána…” she breathed, then bit her tongue; Vána was really going all out -- really, _really_ going all out. Her lips pressed thick against her clit, tempting more moans out from her. This was more than usual, more intense, enough that she began to wonder if she really had been telling the truth about this being the last time. Her shoulder still ached, her body still shook. She didn’t want to think about that. Not then. Not ever.

She let herself slip away, focusing on the waves of pleasure running through her body, then on the pain and the warm, _red -- red, this is red,_ she thought.

Blood pooled out from beneath her shoulder blade, staining everything, filling the room with the sting of metal. She met Vána’s eyes as she knelt over her, and she understood -- _a parting a gift_. The ache of the wound, the searing sting of the poison as it slipped through her bloodstream. Her clothes were back on, and the fabric lay heavy against the surface beneath her with blood.

A wave of fear rushed through her as she remembered, then she focused on the form of the woman above her, and fought to smile as she peeled away in layers of pale petals, tears dripping onto her cheeks from above. “I’ll see you soon,” she said, and she shut her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written any f/f at all, so I hope this is ok!! I'm very much an angsty lesbian myself, so this was fun to write. 
> 
> Also an Aredhel headcanon I alluded to: She wears white because it's the only colour claimed neither by the Feanorians nor the Nolofinweans. It allows her to be neutral, because she has love for both houses. 
> 
> Please leave a comment and/or kudos if you enjoyed!


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